Sometimes I wish life would simply go smoothly without interruptions, even if it does sound idealistic of me. It'd be nice if I could get caught up with work for once. Or if the Korean words I know would miraculously form themselves into complete sentences. Or if I could reach the “amen” part of prayer before I fall asleep at night. Or even if I could just finish one measly blog entry...
Friday, October 31, 2008
Some Days Life is Just a Copier...
The copy machine jammed four times today (twice in the morning and twice in the afternoon) as I was trying to copy student evaluation forms. And what can I say? I feel that life is like that sometimes. Things get jammed. Or constipated. (Or some other equally annoying metaphor.)
Monday, October 13, 2008
Busan
My co-workers and I went on a staff retreat to Busan a little over a week ago. Busan is the second-largest city in Korea located on the southern tip of the peninsula. In some places on a clear day, you can see all the way to Japan. Pretty amazing, huh?Our trip was short (just a long weekend), and I was pretty well exhausted throughout most of it--and for the whole next week! (We drove through the night to get there, arrived at 6am, and I'd only managed
to sleep about 5-10 minutes.) But Busan was beautiful, nevertheless.We sat on the beach, walked through the fish market, were interviewed for TV during an international film festival, and caught glimpses of a few Korean heartthrob movie stars.
Sometimes I think it's too bad that I'm not working in Busan instead of Seoul. I kind of like the coast. There's a little more r
oom to breathe there. And like I said earlier (or meant to say), there's only about 4-5 million people (about 1/5 the size of the Seoul metropolitan area). I won't even calculate how many of my hometowns could fit into that size! :)
My Desk
My desk is currently the most organized it's ever been in my entire life, so for whatever reason, I feel compelled to share it with everyone. Believe it or not, I even organized my lesson plans and alphabetized my class material binders. As a normally not-so-organized person, this is quite the feat. I am very proud (even though pride may be a sin). :) Soooo...that being said, here is my office work space!
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Oh, Ajumma... :)
This afternoon I went for a walk around a small lake just a few bus stops away from my apartment. It's a twin lake, actually, with red paths around it and bright orange carp under the water. I like this place a lot. There are a few willow trees and marigolds, and it's nice to be reminded that nature still exists even in the middle of a concrete city. In fact, this lake seems to be a favorite place for more than just me. It attracts about three different kinds of people: starry-eyed couples, ajummas, and me.
Couples are common enough. Everyone knows they can be a beautiful nuisance. They hold hands and gaze into each others' eyes and sometimes even make out behind trees when no one is looking—yes, even in this culture where PDA is somewhat taboo. (It's possible that I may also frown a bit about kissing in public, especially since my other half is currently halfway around the world...but that's neither here nor there.)
Ajummas, on the other hand, are unique to Korea, I think. They are very special in the world. My roommate explained it to me this way: “Alice,” she said, “there are three different sexes in Korea: men, women, and ajummas.”
Simply put, “ajumma” is the term for middle-aged mothers. They perm their hair and walk around in special hiking clothes and aren't scared of a single blessed soul. (An ajumma once told me that after you've given birth, there's nothing left for you to be afraid of.) They also wear visors—big visors. I saw an ajumma today with one pulled way down over her nose, and I couldn't distinguish anything from her hairline to her chin. It reminded me a bit of Star Wars...or perhaps Transformers. (I heard once that the reason ajummas wear visors is because they don't want to get sunburned; however, I can't help but wonder if it's because they are really part of the Mafia and don't want anyone to see their faces.)
Either way, it's best to use caution when close to an ajumma. (I've heard that ajummas can make some pretty crazy mothers...but that's just hearsay, of course.) They can be especially “dangerous” on a the subway. Just the other day, as I was turning around to sit in a seat, an ajumma suddenly ran toward me. She threw her purse onto the seat before I could even fully rotate to notice what had happened. She then proceeded to slide under my arm and set herself comfortably down. So I smiled and let her sit there. Like I said, ajummas aren't afraid of anything. And I'm secretly convinced that they run this country. :)
English Education (Cultural Negotiations: Part 2)
Koreans are crazy about English. That much is for sure. Everywhere you look in Seoul, there's an advertisement for an English institute. Or there's a person handing out a brochure for one.
One time I was sitting on a park bench reading a book when a man came up to me, said “bonjour,” and calmly put a brochure for an English institute on the empty spot next to me. (He must have had the delayed realization that I was reading an English—not French—novel because he later came back and tried to speak English with me.)
I don't understand this second-language obsession. I know English can be useful in business and travel and potentially other areas of life, but I still don't understand. With all of the intense competition that goes on here, it seems to me that English education is doing little but widening the social gap in Korea.
Students in Korea start learning English when they are in middle school. On average, most people study English for at least ten years of their life. But in recent years, the ways that they study English have changed. And children are starting to learn when they are younger and younger. I recently heard about an English-speaking kindergarten that costs $800/month in Seoul. And you know what's crazy? Many parents actually pay to send their children there.
One of the things that surprised me most is that there are no failed grades in Korea. No matter a child's academic ability, they never have to repeat a grade. So there's usually a wide range of students in one grade. But, nevertheless, 97% of them manage to graduate from high school. And I recently learned that the amount of Koreans who participate in higher education has soared. In 1960 there were 100,000 who studied at a university. By 1987 there were 1.3 million. Wow.
The emphasis on education continues to increase as competition to get a job increases. In a crowded place like this, there are more people than jobs, especially since many women have started working in the last 50 years, as well. So, to put it mildly, parents tend to freak out about their kids' futures.
In Korea, a diploma and high test scores are seemingly synonymous with the ability to work, so education is seen as a way (often the only way) to get a chance for a good job. Because of some of the problems in the public school system, most parents trust private institutes (hogwans) more than public schools, and it's become common for children to go to their regular school and then attend hogwans before and/or after. Lots of students go to school in the morning and don't come home until 10 o'clock at night. (Korean public schools also require attendance every other Saturday.)
Families sacrifice huge amounts of money to give their children these extra educational opportunities. Some parents have been known to spend up to 80% of their earnings on this kind of private education. And I've heard some people say that this is part of the reason that Korea's economy has grown so quickly. Other parents (the rich ones) send their children abroad to study in an English-speaking country. (But, of course, that can have cause some problems, too, especially when the kids come back and find themselves torn between two cultures.)
What astounds me is that Korea spends the highest amount of money on English education in all of Asia, yet they have some of the lowest English scores on international exams (i.e. TOEIC, TOEFL, etc.). It all just seems so bizarre. I'm not usually one to base a person's ability on a test score, but this just floors me.
And I struggle with this issue. What do you do if your parents are poor and can't afford hogwans? What do you do if you're a parent and feel constant pressure from other parents to send your kids there? Even though I teach adults, I feel like the social gap remains the same. And I reinforce the system, even though my hogwan is different from most hogwans.
Yes, I have unique opportunities to share with them. Yes, I learn a lot from them. Yes, I enjoy teaching adults who are eager to learn. However, I can't help but cringe when I think of how many of my students take the knowledge I give them with the simple notion that they'll apply it towards selfish ambitions, such as getting a better-paying job, a promotion, or a higher social status. Not everybody does that, but many do.
I want to challenge a system and way of thinking that seems flawed on so many levels, yet I am often unsure of how to do that. I want to tell them that English is a beautiful language that they can use to express themselves and talk to others and learn about people from all over the world. It's not just a tool for personal advancement. And quite frankly, why is it so important in a country where English isn't even the main language anyway? So I suppose this is Part 2 of my cultural negotiations. “Okay, Korean education system, let's have a chat...”
One time I was sitting on a park bench reading a book when a man came up to me, said “bonjour,” and calmly put a brochure for an English institute on the empty spot next to me. (He must have had the delayed realization that I was reading an English—not French—novel because he later came back and tried to speak English with me.)
I don't understand this second-language obsession. I know English can be useful in business and travel and potentially other areas of life, but I still don't understand. With all of the intense competition that goes on here, it seems to me that English education is doing little but widening the social gap in Korea.
Students in Korea start learning English when they are in middle school. On average, most people study English for at least ten years of their life. But in recent years, the ways that they study English have changed. And children are starting to learn when they are younger and younger. I recently heard about an English-speaking kindergarten that costs $800/month in Seoul. And you know what's crazy? Many parents actually pay to send their children there.
One of the things that surprised me most is that there are no failed grades in Korea. No matter a child's academic ability, they never have to repeat a grade. So there's usually a wide range of students in one grade. But, nevertheless, 97% of them manage to graduate from high school. And I recently learned that the amount of Koreans who participate in higher education has soared. In 1960 there were 100,000 who studied at a university. By 1987 there were 1.3 million. Wow.
The emphasis on education continues to increase as competition to get a job increases. In a crowded place like this, there are more people than jobs, especially since many women have started working in the last 50 years, as well. So, to put it mildly, parents tend to freak out about their kids' futures.
In Korea, a diploma and high test scores are seemingly synonymous with the ability to work, so education is seen as a way (often the only way) to get a chance for a good job. Because of some of the problems in the public school system, most parents trust private institutes (hogwans) more than public schools, and it's become common for children to go to their regular school and then attend hogwans before and/or after. Lots of students go to school in the morning and don't come home until 10 o'clock at night. (Korean public schools also require attendance every other Saturday.)
Families sacrifice huge amounts of money to give their children these extra educational opportunities. Some parents have been known to spend up to 80% of their earnings on this kind of private education. And I've heard some people say that this is part of the reason that Korea's economy has grown so quickly. Other parents (the rich ones) send their children abroad to study in an English-speaking country. (But, of course, that can have cause some problems, too, especially when the kids come back and find themselves torn between two cultures.)
What astounds me is that Korea spends the highest amount of money on English education in all of Asia, yet they have some of the lowest English scores on international exams (i.e. TOEIC, TOEFL, etc.). It all just seems so bizarre. I'm not usually one to base a person's ability on a test score, but this just floors me.
And I struggle with this issue. What do you do if your parents are poor and can't afford hogwans? What do you do if you're a parent and feel constant pressure from other parents to send your kids there? Even though I teach adults, I feel like the social gap remains the same. And I reinforce the system, even though my hogwan is different from most hogwans.
Yes, I have unique opportunities to share with them. Yes, I learn a lot from them. Yes, I enjoy teaching adults who are eager to learn. However, I can't help but cringe when I think of how many of my students take the knowledge I give them with the simple notion that they'll apply it towards selfish ambitions, such as getting a better-paying job, a promotion, or a higher social status. Not everybody does that, but many do.
I want to challenge a system and way of thinking that seems flawed on so many levels, yet I am often unsure of how to do that. I want to tell them that English is a beautiful language that they can use to express themselves and talk to others and learn about people from all over the world. It's not just a tool for personal advancement. And quite frankly, why is it so important in a country where English isn't even the main language anyway? So I suppose this is Part 2 of my cultural negotiations. “Okay, Korean education system, let's have a chat...”
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